Sunday
by cheapknife
Summary: You wonder about your brother on a lazy morning.


You hear him coming down the stairs and you shift on the couch. Wakko sluggishly steps down from the last step and rubs his droopy eyes. Black fur was sticking up in all directions on his head, but what's the difference? His hair is a prickly mess during regular days of chaos and running around the Warner lot. The fuzzy fur was the sole difference from telling you two apart besides height, it contrasts your slick and straight whiskers.

He looks at you and grins. You give him a wave and a somewhat strangled greeting, trying to avoid the fact you were nervous for one reason or another. Your chest tightens all of a sudden- why is that?

And then the unthinkable happens.

Wakko walks right up to you and nuzzles his nose against your cheek, his lips grazing the corner of your own lips. You would've lost your mind if it wasn't for your brother speaking up.

"Mornin' Yakko," he mutters, his accent rolling off his tongue. He looks at you with darling eyes before hopping off to the kitchen. In the mean time, you're stuck to your seat. Raising your hand, you slowly cup the cheek that your God, your brother, blessed upon. The time now was only 10 in the morning and Wakko already managed to make you want to bury your face on a pillow back in your bed and pass out from embarrassment in the progress.

You mask your face with both hands and distinctly sigh. You try to recall just what made you crush on your younger sibling. Surely, there must be a reason to admire his gullible nature, his sweet but naive remarks, the slight sway in his gait, the entirety of his soul. A purpose was sought, but nothing came up.

You shake your head. You decide checking on Wakko is better than being engrossed by fervors for him. You just hope your face isn't too red to notice.

You rise and step towards the kitchen entrance (or lack of) to peek inside. Wakko was way ahead of you in terms of breakfast, his cereal bowl full of sweet flakes was nearly finished and he was reaching for the cereal box for a second fill.

You grab your own bowl from a cabinet and sit down across from him. You didn't even bother to grab some breakfast simply because you are gawking at him. It is a habit of yours to start something but never finish it for any reason, be it you get distracted or your mind goes to many places. This time was no exception.

You sigh, but you meant to start a conversation. Wakko does it for you, and your ears perk up when he pipes up.

"What's up with you?" He's right. What is up with you?

"Did, uhh, did ya get enough sleep last night?" Really? Your brother asked you why your face is flushed pink and your eyes are darting around the kitchen, looking at anything but him (you still keep your eyes in his direction), and you ask him if he had enough sleep?

"Pretty much. You?" he takes a final bite from his first breakfast. He pours some more tooth-rotting sugars into his bowl.

"Yeah. Yeah I did." You nod in between your sentence.

"You sure don't look like it, Yak." Wakko looks at your hands. You weren't paying attention, but you were rubbing the fabrics of your gloves inbetween your thumb and index finger. A nervous habit. You stop.

He wasn't wrong, you have been going past the hours lately. You stay up an hour, two hours later than usual now. But it just wasn't about sleep that's been affecting you, it's your brother.

You try to recuperate. "Ahhhh, I'm fine, brother dear. You just look like ya slept on the floor. Does your big, strong brother need to tuck you in bed more?"

Wakko just chuckles at your remark, apparently dismissing your shifty attitude. "C'mon, Yakko, I'm a big boy! Besides, I don't have potty leaks anymore," he sticks his tongue out at you, earning a smirk from you as a response.

"Yeah? Then what are the stains I see when I wash your sheets every week?" You wink at him playfully, but Wakko shrinks back a bit, as if taken back by what you said. He's the one to turn pink now.

"I-I don't know what you're talkin' about." He lies.

"You think I don't know every little nook and cranny of my siblings' rooms? I'm your zany brother for Pete's sake, I clean your rooms like a nanny on minimum wage." You snicker at your own joke, but you notice your brother growing a little anxious. His tail twitches to the left.

You expect him to say something back but he just makes a sly eye roll. So do you.

You take action as the older sibling and clean up the plates and table. Once everything's said and done, you ruffle Wakko's scruffy fur and return to the living room, him trailing behind you. The time tells you it is now a quarter to eleven. The other Warner sibling must still be asleep, but should be up soon.

An early morning show was being premiered on the television, but you decided your brother was more interesting to watch. The moment both of you sat down at the couch to watch something, Wakko leaned on your side, eventually lowering down to your lap, and fell asleep in minutes. You dared not move a muscle while he slumbered. You observed him as he was.

His chest rose up and down at a steady pace, slow enough for you to tell he was deep in sleep. Wakko is a dead log when it comes to sleeping.

If you weren't preoccupied with carressing his head, you would have made sure he stayed awake for the rest of the day. Today was a Sunday, though. An easy day to take it slow and enjoy the hours. A day to look over the reasons why Wakko gives you stomach knots when you see him.

For now, you twirl a finger around a tuft of his fur and immerse yourself in the physical closeness.


End file.
